Darker Than Blue

[Taelian]

32nd of Frost, Year 119

A sizzle. The candle was lit.

"What is your name?" he asked the entity, in the grim language of the Vesj'vakar.
"Call on me, and I will tell you."
"Why? Why wait?"
"You know why."

Aether. It was the origin of all magic, the basin from which it drew. The hunger of the Patrons, Gods of this magic, curators of Archetypes for the Runic scions to conjure. Taelian had become wholly immersed in the art of Summoning, of late, unable to pull his mind away from it. It called on him in a way that Sigilic Pyromancy never did. It... compelled him.

He liked to hear their voices. To speak their tongue. Much of what they said was still difficult to make out, but, he was learning. Often, when they spoke to him, the meaning of their words filled his mind. Those meanings were difficult to grab onto; he felt like a blind man wielding a net to catch bugs, fluttering around him. But when he grabbed one word, others started to make sense. His understanding was constantly becoming more clear.

It was different than when he learned Common -- all of those rules. This wasn't an academic lesson. This was an understanding on a primal level, kin to his Rune.

"I want to see what your home is like."

And with those words, he was plunged into the depths of the ocean, his spiritual form splitting water around it as darkness lurked in the corner of his vision. They were deep, almost crushingly. Even though he wasn't there with his physical form, he felt an urgency in the loss of his breath, breath that he never had. He gripped his neck . . . and then the entity coiled its tendrils around his mouth, and his nose. And he could breathe, as if sharing lungs with the Vrannik that danced around him.

He accepted it. This creature was not out to hurt him. He had begun to understand.

"I will call on you," he told it. "But afterwards, tell me your--"

He spiraled into darkness, and gripped the curves of the sleek entity's flesh. Suddenly the darkness was a real dark, a void forming along the length of his home's modest wooden wall. His eyes were open. This was real.

"I told you once before," it whispered as it entered his space. "But you did not understand. Margozhad."

[Taelian]

It was a long, black entity, with a slim, corded tail. A stem with blade-like wings protruding from it, tendrils lining its jaw and obscuring any maw it might have held. Its eyes were like holes, formed by a Dragonshard gun, with a white space in-between the cracks. Its arms and legs were adorned with such dangerous looking claws; like the talons of a bird, but--sharper. This was certainly no Nahl. This entity was strong. Perhaps not lethal enough to dispatch any half-formidable Dranoch, but certainly dangerous enough to cull a mundane warrior.

"There are others like you," he pointed out. "Do you all share this name?"

"Yes," the being whispered. "Few within an Archetype have individuality. The Vrannik and Nahl, least of all."

"I see," the Siltori replied. He pondered for a moment, rising onto his feet and approaching the entity with a dull look upon his complexion. "So you have no individual value, then. You are a replica among more. That disappoints me."

The being stayed silent, and stared. It seemed to hold no interest in Taelian's musings. The Elf closed his eyes once more, and brought himself back to the depths where he had only just been pulled, though with the time necessary to perform another Ritual. He looked around him. The Elf was beginning to distinguish the Archetypes he was more familiar with, clearly. There were Hira'lotha swimming around him, and Margozhad doing much the same. His aethereal form swam to another of them, and once near enough, he gripped it by its clawed leg and pulled it down to meet him. The being remained silent.

"I call on you," he said. "Marghozad."

Another portal spilled forth into his room. Two of them now stood at attention, side-by-side, large enough to nearly fill up the whole of his hovel's living space. Taelian beckoned them forward, sliding open his double-sided entrance door, exposing his hovel to the cool air of Kalzasi's wintry outdoors.

He called on them to step through, and they did. The Siltori followed them outside.

"There's a Dranoch that lives in the forest nearby. I know of it, but it's a Cardinal. Even as I am now, battling one is an immense risk of death. But with the two of you..."

"Your ether has been significantly drained," one of them pointed out. The Siltori and his Archetypal companions began to roam through the city streets, eliciting the repugnant stares of the guard, though the inoffensive nature of the Margos as they followed him protected him from immediate retribution. It was dark -- nighttime. No one else really saw what followed him, nor needed to.

"I know," he replied. "But an Enkindled weapon and a few consecutive Trails, in addition to the two of you, should be enough."

The Siltori led them through the city gates, at which point he began to jog, relaxing into the balls of his feet and controlling his breathing so as to not drain his stamina much. He knew that the Dranoch would be impossible to stalk. He needed to swiftly arrive at its shack and put it to rest. For an Ebon Knight with a modicum of skill like him, sustaining a fight after a short run was manageable.

"He's a Siltori, like me," said the mage. "Ashen hair. Eyes that bleed crimson at their core."

"Is he a mage?"

"I don't know," Taelian replied, panting into his words. "We're about to discover."

[Taelian]

His jogging slowed as they came upon the form of the cabin. Taelian controlled his momentum by stabbing his claymore into the soil, noticing a wire-trap only inches before him as he stopped. Once coming to a complete halt, he swung his sword forward and cut through the wire, only to flee in the opposite direction swiftly after doing so. A large log covered in oil and spikes fell from the obscurity of two overhead trees, landing where Taelian would have been had he kept moving. The Ebon Knight scowled.

He thought of ordering the Marghozads to search the perimeter, but not now. Their splitting would only result in both of them being picked off. Cardinals were agile foes, and darkness was often their advantage. It was Taelian's now, though, too. The fiery ring around his irises continued to smolder through the ebon shades that surrounded him.

Taelian swung his blade, cinders following its movement. A claw lurched forward from the shadows and as it swiped forth, the two metal-like materials -- blade and claw -- met. Taelian had noticed the Cardinal incoming; a shade moving through the darkness.

As his blade locked with the creature's claw, the two Margozhad immediately sprung forth. The Cardinal loosed the grip of his claw and leaped back, swiftly, only for the mage to violently swing forward. He managed to swipe lightly at the external layer of the Cardinal's skin, though the cut would not mend due to his Enkindled weaponry.

The Marghozad followed the fleeing specter, the Cardinal running along the wall of its cabin-home and springing from one of the divets along the length, before shifting his position towards a downward trajectory. The Marghozad below him, using his tail as a weapon to attempt to swipe at the enemy overhead, laid still upon the edge of the Dranoch's roof. As the Cardinal descended onto him, he attempted to move aside, but could not keep up with the speed of his foe, who descended onto him rapidly. The Cardinal dug its claw violently into the Vrannik's black-colored skull as he dropped, pinning the creature down and impaling it through its facsimile of flesh. As the Vrannik died, an oil-like substance spewed from the being's corpse, dirtying the Dranoch's claw.

One was already dead.

Taelian frowned.

He yelled in the Vesj'vakar tongue, calling the other back to his side. It did not listen, and instead pursued the Dranoch along the edge of the wall, only to be raked across its chest. It fell back onto the soil, quickly recovering and running into the shadows to prepare its next attack.

The Dranoch swiftly followed up, leaping forward at Taelian and swiftly swinging both of its claws forward, attempting to penetrate his parrying defense and dice through him. He kept up his peerless relent, only to duck under one of the swipes and cut through the Dranoch's chest, leaving behind a thick gash.

The Marghozad sprung forth, then, tackling the Dranoch from its side and pinning it to the floor before beating its skull relentlessly with its tendrils, the ones on its back impaling the Cardinal repeatedly through the chest. Taelian moved behind the Marghozad and held the pommel of his blade with both hands, the sword's tip pointed downward to the soil. With a swift and heavy movement, he sunk his blade downwards, ripping through the Vrannik's form and simultaneously impaling the Dranoch through its chest.

He twisted the sword, grinning feverishly, only to recognize his elation at the act and immediately cool to an empty, dissatisfied stare. The Dranoch died, swiftly, but so too did the Vrannik which melted into an excretion of what looked almost like... tar. Tar, more than oil.

Taelian stared. Just to be safe, he beheaded the Dranoch... and then, he returned home.

[Paragon]

Taelian

XP: 5/5
Magic? Yes, for Summoning.

Summoning: Marghozad
Summoning: Summoning multiple Archetypes
Summoning: Lower-tier Archetypes are replicas
Running: Jogging
Running: Breath Control
Blades: Predictive Riposte

Comments: Please reach out to me if you have questions or concerns.